


pick a flower / bumblebees are out

by petitlionhomme



Series: darkness and doves [1]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jealousy, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 17:30:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitlionhomme/pseuds/petitlionhomme
Summary: Snufkin stays with Joxter for the winter months, and he discovers that his father isn’t as happy to have a son as he would have expected.





	pick a flower / bumblebees are out

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags // not beta-d

“This is your father, Snufkin, you’ll be staying with him for a while.” Mymble’s voice faded as Snufkin stared at other mumrik, his icy blue eyes that were shadowed by dark bruises that were obvious signs of his lack of sleep.

 

“My name’s Joxter.” He introduced, his voice was oddly melodic and soft, but there was an undertone of something just awful in it, from the way he looked at Mymble, to the vaguely odd emotion that would occasionally fill those icy eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Snufkin.”

 

Something about that tone of voice said it was anything but pleasurable.

 

* * *

 

 

Joxter was a rat of a man, and despite the cleanliness of his house and neatness of which everything was around, Snufkin could tell he had a hard time staying clean. He didn’t speak much, either, even as he pulled of his boots and his hat, instructing Snufkin to wordlessly do the same, he said nothing. 

 

“How old are you, Snufkin?” Joxter asked, finally speaking not above a whisper, like making too much noise would break something. 

 

“I’m sixteen, sir.” Joxter tilted his head at that, an inquisitive look on his face. “No need to call me that, I’m your father. Though, I suppose asking you to call me that would be uncomfortable for you. Just call me by my name.” He smiled, but it was an awful one. Sweet, small and utterly disgusting.

 

“Of course, Joxter.” Snufkin was missing Mymble, she would never smile at him like that, her home would never feel so dead and cold, this very man was dead, and he was cold, it was jarring compared to the warmth he was used to.

 

Joxter directed him towards a room, fully furnished with a nest piled high with pillows and blankets and thick comforters. “Is this alright with you? I’m afraid I’m a bit more traditional in terms of mumrik bedding.” He was looking at Snufkin oddly, the same way he had looked at Mymble earlier, and Snufkin just nodded. 

 

“Yes, this is quite alright with me, thank you.”

 

The silence that filled the space between them was awkward and Joxter sighed, resting his hand on Snufkin’s shoulder. It was weird and Joxter was strangely hot, burning Snufkin up through his clothes. “This is a little hard right now, but I’m sure your mother knows what’s best.. for both of us.”

 

And if there was jealousy and lust in those blue eyes, then surely he’d imagined it.

 

* * *

 

 

The winter days were filled with boredom, the occasional cleaning of a minor mess and lots of sleep. Joxter wasn’t like many mumriks in the sense that he did not have a heat or a rut. Snufkin chalked it up to age, he didn’t know how old the creature was and he thought it would be rude to ask. The attempts for them to bond was often ruined by that odd look in Joxter’s eyes and Snufkin growing uncomfortable.

 

So they didn’t bond, they wordlessly danced around each other. Joxter was in the kitchen in the morning and Snufkin was there by afternoon, knowing the man wouldn’t be leaving his room for the rest of the day in favor of napping and whatever else he did (the quiet moans from his side of the wall was enough to have Snufkin not thinking about what else he did) and that’s how it went for about a month.

 

It was like a switch went out, one day, when everything changed. They had tripped up on their routine, the careful dance was now a tangled mess. It was Joxter who scared Snufkin while he was cutting an apple in half, and the knife slipped, splitting his finger open and making him yelp, dropping the knife with a clatter and then silence as he pulled the bleeding finger to his chest.

 

Joxter was quiet, not out-of-character but different than anything Snufkin had ever felt. This quiet was charged with something else, something much more dangerous as Joxter pulled his hand away from his chest and examined the wound.

 

“You made a mess.” He commented, blankly. Snufkin’s eyebrows furrowed and Joxter’s cold eyes snapped up, lips twisted into a scowl. “You’re such a messy boy, do you know that?” He asked as his grip tightened on Snufkin’s hand, and he squirmed, trying to pull away. Joxter just squeezed a little harder, watching the blood flow quicker and drip onto the floor. “You better start cleaning, boy.” He hissed, letting Snufkin go. He stumbled back and went to grab a rag when Joxter tutted.

 

“Don’t dirty anything with your damn blood.”

 

Confusion crossed Snufkin’s face and Joxter tapped his lips with the hand that was covered with Snufkin’s blood. Apprehension and disgust crossed his face, there’s no way he wanted him to...

 

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Snufkin was scared to say it but he was scared of Joxter, and he didn’t know when the fear began. He slowly sank to his knees, glancing up at Joxter who looked more than pleased with this. 

 

The action was quick, no need to draw it out as lapped the blood up from the floor and sat up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve in disgust. 

 

“You missed a spot.” Snufkin looked at the floor, which was shiny with spit but no blood and then back up, to see Joxter holding his hand out, blood on his fingers. Swallowing, Snufkin heard the unspoken demand and almost gagged at the thought. It was harder to block this out, the taste of Joxter (surprisingly sweet, different) and his own blood. Joxter ended up pulling away first, much to the mumrik’s relief, and he slowly kneeled down to Snufkin’s height and tapped his mouth, smeared red.

 

“One more to go.”

 

* * *

 

 

After the incident in the kitchen, Snufkin wanted nothing to do with Joxter but he wanted everything to do with him. His touches lingered, his gaze was colder, and that odd emotion was hate, pure and unadulterated. He spoke more, but every word was shattering Snufkin slowly.

 

“You look like Mymble.” He was in the doorway of his bedroom, tail swaying back and forth, irritation radiating off of him. Snufkin knew that he looked like his mother, he had her eyelashes and her mouth, but it seemed he’d taken much more from Joxter. The tail, for one.

 

“I’ve been told.”

 

Joxter took slow steps into the room and approached Snufkin, watching him as he backed into the corner of the nest with sick satisfaction, eyes practically glowing with glee. 

 

“You know, you got in the way a lot when you were born. So needy, so much time and attention went into you.” Snufkin had successfully been backed into the corner, and Joxter towered over him, clawed hand running through his hair. “I fucking hated you ever since you were born.” His grip tightened, and he dragged Snufkin to his feet, angling his head back uncomfortably.

 

“I guess Mymble made a bit of a mistake sending one of her precious little kids here, hm?” 

 

Dragging Snufkin from the nest, he shoved him to the floor and placed his foot on his stomach to keep him down, a darker look chasing the glee in his eyes away. 

 

“Damn brat.” He hissed, kicking him in the stomach. 

 

The wind rushed from Snufkin and he gasped, going to scramble away when Joxter grabbed his tail and pulled, the blinding pain making him stiffen up. Everything else was a blur of harsh kicks and scratches, and when the assault stopped, Joxter was holding him down by the shoulders and watching him like one would a bird with a broken wing. He leaned down, cold breath fanning out across Snufkin’s face and smiled a little, pressing a kiss to his bloody nose and one over, on his scraped up cheek. 

 

“Go take a shower, you look like shit.”


End file.
